naïveté
by benmaru
Summary: her hands had once been small, clean and dainty. — Tsuruhime


**notes: **this is somewhat of a character study for me. i really like tsuruhime and i wanted to try and bring out more of her character by writing something for her, but i'm not too sure how well i did with this one. i'll probably be writing more of these in the future, and i'll probably write another one (or two) for tsuru. just because i like her so much and i think there's more to her than the games let on.

* * *

She is tired. Not exhausted, not yet, but she can feel the weariness creeping in her bones, her aching limbs. The priests fret and worry, talking in their soft voices: _"are you sure you're alright? We can rest here"_ – no, she knows they can't afford to. They've fallen behind and now they have to catch up.

With a firm shake of her head she turns them away, grip tightening on her bow. They return, reluctantly, back to their duties, casting worried glances that are not so subtle over their shoulders.

They pity her.

Crescent moons dig into her palms as she bites down the urge to chide them, scold them – she's never lost her temper with them. She can't. They've raised her and they're all she has. It's not in her to yell at them. After all, they're in the same boat as she is.

That's what scares her.

Back at the shrine, other girls watched with wrinkled noses and disdain as she fitted another arrow to the string, back straight but fingers shaking. They had heard rumors of war brewing on the horizon, but they didn't understand – battles? Soldiers? What were those? Truth be told, she hadn't known either.

Now she knows. Perhaps not as well as Magoichi, who has witnessed more death and carnage and stares with hardened steel in her gaze at the wreckage around them before heading to the next battle.

But she has a sense, now, of what it means to fight.

She knows it shows, her lack of experience, on the battlefield. It's confusion and chaos and she loses sight of priests-turned-generals too many times to count. Banners snap and wave in the wind and she stares, uncomprehending of the battle going on around her until an arrow embeds itself in the dirt next to her.

With a flick of her wrist she sends her own flying back, striking a man in the throat. Blood – so _redredred _– flows from the wound and drips down his deathly pale skin as he collapses. She feels a twinge in her heart, not for the first time, but pushes it aside. Magoichi told her days ago remorse is something that will hold you down with chains and leave you vulnerable. So it's better to drop it, let it go and watch it fly away.

Someone calls her name and she turns, seeing one of her generals – elderly and unfit to be wielding a sword of all things (he used to read her, she remembers. stories for children filled with goddesses granting wishes and stardust that fell like snow) – running to her, flapping a scroll that's been dirtied by countless hands at her.

She takes it with a polite smile and reads the message before nodding. Her eyes see the text but she doesn't understand. She never does. Tactics are necessary to win battles, she knows that much.

But how to implement them – that was a different story.

Nevertheless, she says she'll be there soon enough and sends him off, watching as he stumbles over fallen men, some of them comrades, and heads to their temporary encampment.

As she notches another arrow, her eyes fall on her hands. They're scarred, bloodied – there's a blister forming on her right thumb and she scrunches her nose at the sight.

It seems as though only weeks ago were her hands clean and white and dainty. They had been the hands of a sheltered girl with little knowledge of the outside world and didn't need to worry about it.

But she won't let her insecurities show. Not now. If she does, she'll be admitting that her decision was wrong; she shouldn't be here watching men die when she doesn't even know what that _means. _All she knows is that they're not breathing and won't stand up again. (That's all she needs to know, she tells herself).

"_Naivety is a curse in your case, Little Crane. I hope for everyone's sake you learn to grow up," Magoichi once told her, arms crossed and mouth unsmiling._

A quick toss of her head; denial. She won't let those words get to her. She's not finished protecting her seas and what's dear to her – she won't stop until this war is over. Not even if she's scared. Not even if her men plead and beg and cry. Not even if she's forced to admit she prays every night for her people's safety.

Tsuruhime, the renowned Oracle, doesn't want to be proven wrong.

So she raises the bow, pulls her arm back, takes a breath—

_(she wants to go home)._

—and lets go.


End file.
